


Flowers speak louder than looks.

by chiyokintou



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M, Oneshot, fluff oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 11:14:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6236461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiyokintou/pseuds/chiyokintou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco Bodt is the young owner of a coffee- and flower shop. Jean Kirschtein is a university- drop out who is both  struggling to pay his rent and to get a single smile on his face. Marco likes imperfect flowers and can see exactly what Jean needs; a job, good coffee and some love. </p><p>- From the Author of Flowers speak louder than words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flowers speak louder than looks.

**Author's Note:**

> Please enjoy!

 

The sad thing about flowers is: they live longer than we keep them. They wilt and they change colour, shape and sometimes even smell - like us - but they don’t die just yet. Humans never notice these things, because we throw them away before we could. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, by the way. The flowers we keep are made and meant for beauty and smell. We choose them and we keep them because they stay the way we chose them. It’s like.. like people getting upset over people who mind when their tinder matches look different in real life. That’s stupid. You chose them because of the way they look. ‘Judging people by looks’  is not a bad thing, on the streets, on tinder, when going for a quick glance or picture. Judging flowers by their looks is normal, when they are for your living room, when you pick them or when you take a picture of them.

Now this changes once we are talking about giving flowers away.  When you give one a flower, they have got to fit and mean something. I don’t mean the meanings from the books. Just something. Something special to you or the one you love.  Give a yellow tulip to someone you have been married to for years; it makes no sense but if you know they’d find it beautiful, you have changed the meaning from 'an impossible love' to ‘I know you’. Let flowers you love dry in your books or wilt in that one lonely vase you stole from your parents house once until the pedals fall into your cup of coffee. Let them hang like tulips after a day or two. Like the curves in them are beautiful like the curves in a woman’s body. Or a man’s at that. For me.

I’m a florist. Keeping my wilted flowers and keeping thorns on flowers would scare people away. I have to tell myself that on a daily basis. So I only keep flowers that truly mean something to me. I get flowers in and lay them on the table softly just to see people putting them into their bag that - don’ t lie - is always a little too small. And it doesn’t hurt anymore because I started finding normal.  
I don’t know if I stopped comparing flowers to people when I stopped caring or if I stopped caring about the way people treat human misfits too.  
Maybe both at the same time.  
Maybe I hadn’t gotten over it the way I thought I had.

“Good afternoon, how can I help you?” I cheerfully asked as soon as the bell of the shop rang. Automatic pilot. “or would you like to sit down and have some order something? In that case I’ll be right with you” A shop who sells coffee and flowers. Isn’t that every man’s dream? Well no I guess not, but it sure is mine.

“I saw that you were looking for full time employee’s”   I looked the young man up and down. He looked nothing like the people we had as employee’s before. The ones who walk in are young girls with bright smiles, hair and eyes. Girls who put the flowers that break in their hair and ask if they can have mint tea next to them while working. The type of girl who get guys to come back over and over again because they have fallen in love with the way they serve the coffee. Beautiful and genuinely happy.

A quick glance can’t tell all, I had to remind myself. “We are actually, lots of people have come by but if you give me your cv I will check it out right away, your’s is the last one I’ll take” He got his cv out of his bag in a clumsy but confident manner and pushed it into my hands.

Jean Kirschtein. 22. Never had a job. Did 3 years of university, majoring philosophy.  “Unique” I mumbled under my breath, not understanding how a guy like him would get the idea to work at a flower and coffee shop.

He cringed at the word. “oh”

“What made you come here?”

He looked behind him awkwardly, back into the rainy day outside. The kind of day people try to forget by coming here. He was trying to run back to it, far away, into another world. This shop was another world. “Am I not just.. supposed to drop my cv off and talk with you later on?”

I chuckled lightly “Got an appointment?”

“No.” He awkwardly shifted “I just thought..”

“You see.. ” I looked at his cv again, checking his name “Jean. I am a people person. I don’t really care about where you have worked, which is nowhere, or which educations you did finish.. I just want to talk for a bit” Jean nodded. “You see, There are about twenty other people who came in this week. Girls who come here a lot. Twenty is a lot so I had decided to go through them and call three or four to come and chat..” I checked if he was still listening. He wasn’t, I guess, he was looking at his feet.  “You’re the first. If you have time”

“Yeah.. Cool, I mean I have time.. right now”

I tried to smile as calm as possible while I lead Jean to a table where we could sit and have some coffee. The shop was empty and it was around closing time.  Jean was late, specially for someone who wanted to make a good impression. I was still not sure if he wanted to make a good impression anyway. He didn’t seem to be trying.  
I explained that if someone would come in I would still go help them and chatted some about the fact that my parents used to own the shop but due to personal circumstances I had taken responsibility over the shop. I explained and talked and waited for him to say something.

He didn’t.

“So why did you choose this shop to work?”

“Didn’t want to be stuck at some fast food bullshit you know? Just.. people.. - I agree - but they said I shouldn’t choose a stressful place”

I took a sip of my cappuccino “Why is that?”

“Nothing..”

I nodded “then would you mind telling me why you stopped going to university”

‘Kind of”

Again. He wasn’t one to talk. I realized that in that second.  “Alright, well, this says you can work full time, which comes in very handy” It was getting kind of awkward talking but I kept doing it. Jean kept looking at me as if he was wishing I would just shut the hell up. His hazel eyes tore right through me. He had big bags under his eyes and his skin was very white. His face stood angry due to his frown and boney face. He hadn’t dropped a convincing smile since he had gotten in.  “Okay.. I will probably be able to get a hold of the others by the end of the week so you’ll hear something from me then”  

We stood up and I shook his hand. He held it firmly. His hand was so cold I was afraid of burning it with my warm one. I felt it on my skin even after he had let me go. “Thanks” he mumbled “for the coffee too.. could use one.” and there it was:  the honest smile. Genuine and beautiful.

 

He was stuck in my mind. Sad eyes. He seemed like one of those people with a best mind that had gone into the dirt. Boy, he was sad. His features were slender, fingers moved nervously while he spoke and while he spoke you could notice he was thinking you weren’t listening.  While he drank his coffee he had closed his eyes, a soft sigh or escape or whatever he needed and found in that darkness.

Was he a wilted flower, a dried one or did just still have his thorns?  
I started wondering, the day after, how I was going to call him. How did one make it logical that you choose such a man out of all those pretty girls? I couldn’t just say that I liked people like him. Those who didn’t give all away. I couldn’t say he sparked out. Specially, I couldn’t say that I didn’t bother to talk to others after talking to him.

But I didn’t. I put all the letters and cv’s aside and stood behind the cashier just waiting for a good day to call him. Four days. I decided on. I could call him after four days because I could have talked to quite some girls in that time.

Three left, and I was running through the shop to get heart- shaped flowers into the water and to get sweet tea for sweet couples. Business-man who walked in to check if they were still safe in the busy marriage they loved. “You open this Sunday? Valentine's day?”

“Sure am, always a busy day on valentine’s so I’m going to open the shop for it”

“Must be rough”

I smiled and nodded “It is but the mood is lovely ain't it?”

The business-man always laughed when I called valentine’s day lovely. Often a little too loud, like ‘hugh haw haw’  and then they’d mumble “just wait till you have that girl you’re smiling about for years like and my wife!”  but none meant it. I knew they would come on sunday and spend all they had worked for on lovely flowers. Bright pink and reds. Always worrying their heads off about whether or not their wife would like the same old flowers. “Classics are never wrong” was the best phrase to calm them.

After one of those conversations it hit me that, if it was going to be that busy, I had a reason to call that one Jean Kirschtein, mister thorns and wilt, a little sooner.  He was supposed to be nervous about getting a job, not I for getting an employee, but as the phone kept beeping I kept playing with the pen in my hand as if I had nothing better to do. Waiting for a voice. My heart beating ‘till a voice came. “Hello this is Jean”

I swallowed quickly and got on my feet to pace through the room “Hey, Jean, this is Marco Bodt, from Bodt’s flowers and coffee shop”

“oh.. uhm”

“I called to ask whether you are free this Sunday.. it might be on a late notice so if you have plans with your girlfriend or anything, that’s fine too”  I walked back to the front and started putting flowers differently without any particular reason, besides the fact I’m just that kind of caller.  “It’s usually very busy on valentines day”

“It’s valentine's day?”

I nodded. Which was stupid, I realised seconds later “Yes it is.”

“I’m available.. yeah”  I smiled brightly “Is it a one time thing or?”

So rude. I smiled. “No, Well, let’s say that we’re just going to try this together, and if you are extremely bad I might change my mind”  I laughed. He didn’t, so I changed my mind about laughing. “I- I have chosen you, to come work here”  

“Oh you did? Oh okay that.. that’s great, thanks”

“Do you have time to drop by tomorrow between two and half past six? In case it gets too busy on Sunday?”

“Yeah! I have time. I have time every day really”

I picked one flower that had wilted a little bit “good.. “

“Yeah”

The flower still looked fine. It hung. Sad. The petals were softer than usual. The colour vague. “Thank you”

¨No problem”   

I’d put the flower behind the counter until all the petals would fall. Just for myself. “I’ll see you tomorrow then”

“Yeah”  he coughed softly “tomorrow”

“see you”

“yeah”

“Okay bye”

“Yeah bye, uhm, see you tomorrow”

I hung up. Smiling. Stupid. What a stupid little world in which we call people to work for us, talk for way too long because one clear sentence feels wrong, despite being exactly as clear. Stupid me, who lets people know if they are hired in two days instead of the ‘never’ people call ‘this week’  or the ‘we found someone’ that means ‘you are too old’.    
Stupid emails that I send to let other people know that they were not hired.  
Lovely customers getting flowers for whoever made them happy.  What a lovely little gesture in which we sell flowers to speak for us.

 

I opened the shop around 9 in the morning, which, to me, means that I wake up little before 8 and bake some pancakes with jazz playing loudly. My parents had moved away from the shop about fifteen years ago and started renting it to students and poor freelancers. Since my father got ill and I fully took over the shop, I had been “renting” the place. Which basically means my parents allowed me to live there because I was doing all the work anyway. It was great this way, I just walked down and did my thing while having my morning coffee.  I was reading The orchid of Shanghai while eating and getting all my stuff together. This is what I always do. Send some emails, check my work, make some art, whether it’s poetry or drawings, and then relax a little.  

The day was busier than usual, already. Some people came to have breakfast. These were always the same people, ones who started later on one day and decided to do something special with this one morning.  “Good morning!”    
“Hello, I’d like some sweet coffee bread and coffee”  

“Sure thing, I’ll be with you in a second”  All we had were cakes and breads really, just things to eat with their coffee. It was enough.  
I set down coffee and while the man ate calmly and read the news paper I started getting the wilted flowers out of vases. People came in, got some pink or red flowers for their lovers and got out. All day keeping in mind that Jean was coming later that day. Looking in the mirror three times an hour and actually minding - for once - that I got dirt on my shirt. It wasn’t much. I wasn’t trying to look beautiful, just good. I just wanted him to view me like a good man.  
It wasn’t like I hired him just because I was attracted to him. I kept telling myself that.  
I hadn’t thought about it that way but now that I did it seemed.. stupid.

Jean came in right after the busiest moments. I had just sat down to read my book and shot up when he walked in, thinking he was a customer. “Oh Jean! Hey, good you’re here”

“Hey” I placed a flower between my book and walked his way.  

“You want something to drink first? I’ll show you everything after”  He nodded. And so I got  him his coffee with two sugar cubes, and so I walked with him to the flowers and the counter, helped customers in front of him and let him awkwardly and terrible help the others. It was fun working together with someone for once. I stopped feeling guilty after asking him to do something for about three times. Simple things. ‘fill the dishwashers, clean the tables, check if the flowers have enough water etc.’  
He got calmer. I don’t know if I expected him to but he did. After a while he talked back when I was talking about, I don’t know, the weather or something. He’d even ask if I was talking to him when I was singing or talking to myself softly and he smiled cockily and genuinely when I explained. He said hello to customers and pointed them to me at literally anything. That was fine. It was very, very nice working with someone again.

When we were finished he stayed for too long. We closed at 8 and already did some basic cleaning. Yet the conversation kept going and going.  The music was still playing and, even though we turned the sign on the door to ‘closed’ the lights were still shining peacefully.  Useless things. He told me that he lived on his own and what his favourite food was, that he spoke French, where he had been, what he loved. Useless and beautiful information that had me , without me knowing it, knowing him within one evening.   

 

The next morning was even busier. I asked Jean to come around eleven so that he could help around the lunch until people got back from their work and needed lots of flowers.  “Happy valentines day” I said when he came in, but his eyes asked me to still not talk to him. He looked as if he had woken up hours before he usually would. Maybe he had.

“Hey” he said with a nod. “Busy?”

“Very, at some point I thought I couldn’t handle it myself anymore” Jean nodded and looked at the old couple and girls who were sitting at the coffee part, laughing, loving. He was wearing a blouse on a ripped skinny Jeans. His blouse looked quite neat, maybe he had seen that I wore clothes like those to work in and thought it fit the shop. It really did too. He looked nice in the shop, actually made me believe he fit here.   “It’s lovely though, I really like valentines day”

“You got a girl?”

 I merely shook my head before a customer walked in for some flowers.  A sweet young ‘I ain’t know nothing about girls or flowers’ boy who gets surprised when customized flowers are indeed over Ten dollars.   “She probably doesn’t know the difference between custom and normal, so I recommend you take-”  and so on and so on.  He was thankful. He smiled brightly and told me about his lady. He said that she was a ‘beautiful black girl’ and said she ‘was worth all of his money, he ain’t got time for acting tough no more’  which was insanely sweet.

Jean seemed to have none of it and after he put away his stuff he went to the back to do some 89off the coffee dishes. Then he asked if the lunch customers wanted anything else and how their coffee had been. Surprised and loving, I listened to him while helping in the front of the shop.

It was busy very busy. Jean and I switched jobs constantly so that we wouldn’t do the same thing and because Jean sometimes said he was ‘getting sick of all the love’ which was a joke, maybe, or maybe not. I really wanted to sit down with Jean and take a small break, but it was busy enough to keep both of us busy. It wasn’t until 6 that people stopped coming in as much. There were merely business men who needed one bouquet for their wives and left right away. Some needed customed ones and paid twenties, thirties or more. With these bouquets Jean seemed like the young boys, he didn’t know what flowers were and how much they costed,

With just these people walking in we would be capable of drinking some coffee in the front so that we could easily drink those while working calmly. A break was out of the question so  Jean was getting them to put them in the front of the shop.

Two boys walked in. Guys our age. One of them had long blonde hair and bright eyes, he was talking as if speeching about something he was excited about and the other boy was nodding and giving short sentences to agree. Even when in the shop, he only spoke up to me once the other was finished talking. Intense. You could see they had a loving and respectful relationship.   “Good afternoon” I said softly.  

“Hey” he mumbled in a powerful voice. The blonde was looking at the flowers I costumed with and now the brunette had his arm around the other’s shoulders in a proud way.  

“Do you want me to custom something for you?”

He nodded “For my boyfriend.. He liked those”  he pointed at the Camellias while the blonde mumbled the name.  “So something beautiful that matches with that”  
“have a price in mind?”

He shook his head “Just make it beautiful. I’ve got money.” Such a cocky guy. It was nice though.

I started to custom and saw Jean walking up from behind me while I pulled out flowers.  The blonde was talking about why those flowers had always been his favourite and complimented my shop. He told his boyfriend that he wanted to drink some tea here too. I told him why I loved the shop, and how I came to own and work at the place. Thought while we were talking, my mind got distracted by another conversation. I tried to keep talking but it was hard, when Jean was talking at such a tone.  

“Jean! You working here now? Never expected to see you working! I thought your parents would take you back eventually and you’d be the same as always”

“Eren” Jean merely spat as a reply.

“It’s so weird to see you again. You lost a lot of weight.” The Eren guy excitedly stared at Jean as the the boy was a museum. “How is school?”

“I quit”

Eren nodded.  “That sucks. Do you have a new boyfriend? I take you don’t, you look like you never sleep”

“See you still know me” Jean whispered, but I heard, and I knew the blonde I was talking to heard to.  He turned around and seemed to want to wrap himself up in the conversation.  

“Jean-” he had barely started talking when Jean bit back with ‘no’s’ and ‘you can’t still talk to me.’  He seemed to panick. I didn’t know what to do. I felt helpless for I didn’t know what kind of relationship they had.   “I can make it up to you”

“No” said Jean and the Eren guy at the same time.  Jean continued “I don’t need it. I needed help but I don’t need it anymore. I can-” he looked at me and stopped in the middle of his sentence “Marco sorry, I didn’t mean to..” He stopped again.

I put the flowers on the counter and turned to the two “You can take place over there and take a look at the drinks we have. I’m sorry to interupt your conversation but I have got to put Jean to work.” They nodded. Understood, but as they sat down I told Jean to just drink his coffee and sit at the counter with his phone or a book or whatever he wanted to look into. He took a notebook, a pencil and started drawing.

Silence.

Nothing but Miles Davis and the soft talking in the back of the shop - the coffee part - made the shop live.  While I costumed the flowers Jean I could hear Jean’s hand move aggressively. I wished I knew what he was drawing. I wished I could talk to him already, but I could merely bring the flowers to the sweet couple that had apparently hurt Jean insanely.

“I, uhm, I understand if you want to choose someone else, to work here you know” I looked at him so quickly it probably shocked him.  “I was not much of a help today”  
“No, Jean.. I still want to hire you. You did an awesome job really”  I wrapped the last ribbon around the flowers “Please stay when the customers leave, we can talk then”  

I didn’t wait for an reply. I just gave the couple their flowers and took their empty cups. The blonde complimented the bouquet and then apologized again. The brunette agreed on the bouquet but then he gave Jean the blame for making everything a grumpy mess. He just wanted to know how Jean was doing; it wasn’t his fault that Jean’s life had gone to shit.    
Worried Jean could hear us, I brushed his words off awkwardly. Saying that the situation wasn't all that bad (which it wasn’t) and that I really didn’t mind (which I did).  
When they had left they gave their goodbyes to both of us and they - at the blonde’s command - left a tip.

It was as if the world got lifted off Jean’s shoulder when they walked out of the door. He let a deep sigh slip, yet he didn’t manage to get rid of the frown on his face. I waited patiently. When he didn’t talk I started making myself some tea and him some coffee. Luckily the shop was still very calm and Jean could sit there in silence and at ease.  

He thanked me when I handed him his coffee and stared at me with intens eyes. “Care to share?” I asked him. “Your thoughts and troubles.. I mean”

He nodded but took a little while to speak. “I got kicked out of my parent’s house, quite a while ago” he started. I didn’t understand why this was the best place to start but to him, apparently, it was. “So I stayed everywhere and no where for a while, then I got my last money to rent a place but I couldn’t pay it anymore.. that’s why I needed this job. My parents won’t have me back” I nodded. Not knowing why he was telling me exactly this and what it had to do with the couple.  
I was at loss of words.

Jean sipped his coffee, with two sugar cubes,  and sighed “My parents used to pay my education, but I guess I could have gotten the money from elsewhere.. but I, I just didn’t want to do it anymore. I got into a depression for quite a while” He swallowed loudly and looked to the side. “It was nothing really. I was being a kid-”

“Jean.. It must have been rough” I thought about weather or not I could say the following for quite a while. Eventually I decided that yes, yes I could ask him. “Do you want to talk about it a little later? You could eat here. We will have some more time, if.. if you want to tell someone like me the story. You don’t have to tell for the job or anything”

He agreed and understood.  
I sighed and smiled.  

  
This is very stupid because I know Jean was far from worried about it; but I got worried about what I would cook. This, and I got worried about the mess (that was literally never there, because I don’t make messes). Secretly I was a little thankful towards the couple because Jean was interesting being believe and I hadn’t expected him to open up quick like this. I had been surprised by how long and cockily he could drag out an conversation with the right ones before (he failed to do this with many customers) and now I was surprised he agreed to eat with me.  
Maybe he was just poor until I paid him and he needed food.

The stairs creaked when we walked up stairs and had closed down.  The small hallway smelled like food and incense. It smelled lovely, I thought, maybe he disliked it. “This smell is making me really fucking hungry”

“What do you want to eat? I’ll cook right away?”

“Whatever really.. Been a while since I had home cooked food” My heart clenched together. I promised myself I wouldn’t get all feely just because this guy looked like a damn sweet black stray cat. Now that he walked into my room and awkwardly put his stuff next to my brown comfortable couch. “Where shall I-”

“Anywhere! I’m going into the kitchen to cook so you could-” Nervous. Both of us seemed a little bit nervous so he shot up and followed my weak footsteps into the kitchen. He sat down and seemed to be lost in his thoughts so far I wouldn’t dare to interrupt him. I softly put on some music and denied his offer to help. Then he just calmly sat there with the coffee I had made for him, and he smiled. The smile was barely there and I shouldn’t have noticed it, but it was obvious he was calm and it warmed my heart.

I made lasagna, and it turned out very good (thank god, love of men goes through the stomach).  We sat down on my small wooden table and I put aside the big vases with half dead flowers I had standing around everywhere. Jean asked me about it “Why don’t you just get new flowers and throw these away?”  
I swallowed “It’s a shame.. they.. they.. I still like them”

Jean nodded slowly and ate some of his food as he didn’t know what to say. An awkward silence filled the room.  “uhm..” Jean looked up with big eyes “You see, the sad thing about flowers is that they live longer than we keep them, and once I love something I love them for as long as they live, even if it’s just barely”

Two eyes stared into me as if I had just set the world on fire.  He didn’t eat, nor did he answer.  

So we ate in silence for a while longer, the mood had lifted. I was proud of my words because they represented my feelings perfectly. It calmed me.    
“I uhm.. My parents kicked me out of the house”  he started there again.  “because I had a relationship with that guy who was in the shop earlier. They were not okay with me being gay.” he stared at me as if I was about to say that, no I was not okay with that either. I wanted to scream the opposite. The ‘me to’ ‘me to’ God, ‘me to’ but I didn’t because I hate it when gay people steal someone else's emotional moment for they have gone through something too. “They didn’t walk in on us or anything. The guy and I had decided to tell them and if anything happened I was going to live with him and his roommates, a nice girl and that blonde guy”   I swallowed. The rest was far from hard to figure out.  “My parents kicked me out and only then Eren worked up the nerve to tell me that I wasn’t what he was looking for. He had waited for the Armin and had just never expected him to turn gay.. he had always known that if Armin could love him he’d leave me.. he just.. didn’t want to be lonely, I think.” I nodded. I didn’t really know what to say and even if I did; my throat was closed.  “No one likes to be lonely really”

“Are you lonely?”

He looked at me as if I was holding a gun against his head.  “of course I’m lonely. I push everyone away”  he hissed softly. I wanted to lean over the table and hug him. It was an instinctive feeling. Hard to push back. I managed though.  

“Jean.. do you want to sit in the living room?”

And so we did.  
We sat down and put some tea above a candle but that was ignored because apparently Jean used to drink my favourite wine all the time and this made us light up enough to actually start drinking it.  “You know Jean, I might be a happy flower guy but we might have more in common than you think”

“Like depression and an empty bank account?”

“Like wine, coffee and probably old blues” he smiled. He listened to blues. “or like-” guess right Marco. Guess right. “old cheese and never finishing philosophy books but starting them very often”  

“oh.. you got lucky with those guesses, give me one more thing, flower man”

I smiled brightly and held my wine. I was still standing straight and pacing the floor happily while he was sitting on my couch lazily, bags under his eyes and wine in his bony hand, and I said, in a proud voice but with a loud heart, while pointing my wine glass at him that “We are both gay”

And ohh,

and a silent ahh,

and the world stopped for a second because some words hold power than no human can have without the subjectiveness only two people having a conversation can feel.

I smiled calmly and proudly while Jean opened his mouth “Are you making fun of me?”

“What? no. I’m gay. I said I’m gay”

“I know what you said but you said it as a joke”

I quickly hurried over to sit on the couch close to him  -he backed away like a wilted flower that keeps it’s petals until you touch it in the wrong way - and set my wine glass on the table to that I could touch his hands if only he allowed me to. “Jean it was not a joke. I have sex with men. I mean like.. I fall in love with the same sex. There is no joke about that.”

Jean seemed to breath slowly now, he straightened up a little bit and swiped the disgusted and aggressive look off his face (I was honestly surprised he could get such a face) “Believe me, there are lots of jokes about that”

“Okay.. listen Jean” I swallowed. “Your parents are dumb. You can deny it because they raised you but they are for letting you go. Eren? Dumb too, and you might not believe me because I haven’t known you in a long time and I understand that, I have no reason to let you believe anything except from that I’m genuine. I just want to tell you that from now on you have money to replace the home you lost. From now on you can talk about boys when eating here, when working and even when you are crying and broken.” I rubbed my neck “I don’t know how much these words mean when they come from your new boss..”

“No. I don’t care about how long I’ve known you or what position you have.. this is as intense as one can get”  He didn’t thank me. He didn’t decline my offer either. That alone was a compliment like I had never gotten before.

Jean took the role of DJ and put on some music. He seemed to relax after the small talk. He started talking about what he liked to do - he drew a lot- and about what kind of university he used to go to -he had majored philosophy and got into a lot of fights with his father about this choice- and about every small thing I was interested in.  
He called himself a day zombie, with which he meant that he had gotten used to living from 3 or 4pm until 6am. He slept while others had school ever since his university ended and he knew he would have to get back to sleeping at normal hours if he wanted to get or keep the job. I noticed him getting more energetic too, more at ease. This didn’t come in sweet happiness and stories but in cockiness and complaints. I liked that.

We talked for hours like that. With wine and cheese, crisps and endless sad blues that I sang and he hummed. He called me racist for only giving him cheese and wine. I didn't know he was French before. I only drank wine, all the time.   “I make art at night.. It’s the sad and dark thing that makes art great” I nodded “I bet at least eighty percent of the art was made at night” and so on and so on.  
Now this night was my first time realising how subjective time was. It was around two o’ clock, when I realised we had been sitting like that (doing nothing) for hours, and that it had felt like an hour or so. Still I couldn’t get it over my heart to stop talking and sighing about beautiful music. So I didn’t.  He asked me - because he was well mannered at certain times -  “If you want me to go so that you can sleep you can just say so.” He had slur because of the alcohol, his eyes were glassy and sparkled.

“I will stay awake until _you_  want to leave”

“What if I never leave?”  he asked me.

I smiled, a heavily warm feeling lifting down on my body. “Then I’ll stay awake forever”  

He didn’t answer that, he merely laughed softly and sipped his wine once again. Satisfaction was written all over his face. “damn moron”

 

Working without sleeping was surprisingly easy. Jean whined a lot, but after the few days I knew him, I knew that he just whined a lot and that he didn’t mean much by it. He didn’t want me to change it, he didn’t want my words of sympathy, he just wanted to complain. If anything, he wanted me to make some coffee for him. And so I did.  “Double?”

“Yes please” he moaned, his butt on the chair behind the counter. I watched him collect what he had to collect and put the flowers in place slowly but nicely. He had changed in my eyes, he really had. He was a dreamer who had his dreams taken from him. Once so beautiful and now ex- depressed, or still struggling with it, who knows.

“What are you thinking?” I put his coffee down and looked outside; it was finally getting light outside.

“Was wondering if you have a man? I never reacted when you told me you were gay”

“I don’t have one” I smiled jokingly “so if you are wondering if you can get my number you sure can” eyebrows that wiggle. A punch against my shoulder. A beautiful laugh. A “fuck off.”

The day was still a little bit busier, people who were busy on valentines day but had promised their loved ones the world. Jean and I managed with our sleepy and hungover minds to run the shop. I managed a smile and chitchats. Jean managed to make coffee and I learned him to custom flowers. “I can do it, I’m an artist” he stated. I believed him. Handing a broken man flowers was.. a view I loved. As silly as it might sound; it was something I would want as a picture, paper or book. It was the perfect picture of how my dreams and mind worked. This broken man, beautiful flowers and flowers that were barely alive close to my heart. Oh good God the sweetness of no sleep that helped me think in pictures instead of empty philosophies that moment.

That evening Jean stayed again, and we let some pizza come in because we were tired. In the evening, after dinner, Jean left, but this seemed to be the sign that we wanted to act like normal humans, normal co-worker and normal men who hadn’t known each other for all too long. It was forced.

The following days were alike. Jean came in later than I but he stayed longer so that he could help me close down. Some days we didn’t eat together but that choice was forced too. The choices to not do things together got lesser every day. Within two weeks Jean and I ate together on the daily. I figured out he had been getting take out and microwave food ever since he had been kicked out of his house and made him sit down and learn while I cooked. He told me about his parents from time to time, happy things, like the time that he told me about the amazing things his mother could cook. My cooking ripped stories about his family off him. I saw that he regretted talking about lovely memories as soon as he finished doing so. I never gave words of sympathy. I didn’t think he’s appreciate it.

On Saturday, two weeks after the first time he slept at my place, he did so again. It was the same idea. Having him leave seemed forced, unnecessary and - if I’m being completely honest- kind of painful because I had gotten used and attached to his presence.  “You don’t mind?” he asked way too many times. I told him that it was lovely having him around. He wasn’t good at answering things like that.  
We ate some udon noodles and he watched me cooking again. He was more talkative than the last time but the balance was alright. I realized that Jean in the evening or at night was a whole other Jean than the one in the morning. I liked both. I liked Jean a lot, was grateful for his presence; him working in my shop was honestly reason I woke up looking forward to the rest of the way.  

Every second of being with him made me realize how insane it was that we fit together that well and that I had never realised how fitting together with one person makes being close a lot easier and faster. Jean told me about Eren. The whole time his voice was almost gone but I listened and heard. It pained me. “I had been pretty brave you know.. I knew that I would end up like this with the way my parents think” I nodded “It’s such a terrible stereotype: the gay artistic kid who gets kicked out of his house and who gets his heart broken.  We have all seen them in the media. It’s a fucking melodramatic mess.”

He was right. “It’s their imagination. In real life I have met no one like you” I don’t know if those were the right words to calm him. They were the ones I said anyway. Nothing more or less.

“I guess” and this was where something new happened, for I hated the sad look on his face. I stood up, got him some very good coffee with vanilla cinnamon liqueur and when I got back I placed the coffee on one side of him, and myself on the other side, so close that I should have been awkward. Only God knows why I did such a thing but I did, and he didn't speak about it.  “I really liked university. I like learning. I hate being around people and getting up early. People are judgemental and I’m even more judgemental..” he chuckled “They really passed me off as stereotype there. I was the thin and bony, sad and broken looking philosophy major who couldn’t go to class before having his coffee.” My hand found his arm and softly stroked his. I don’t think he noticed.  “The thing I heard most was:  ‘you have thousands of amazing reasons why these theories are wrong but we want you to give an alternative, come up with something better.’ and I couldn’t. I would just say why people were wrong and tell them to prove themselves. An easy way out of it, because all these people are dead”

I chuckled and nodded. I didn’t answer but he realized I appreciated him talking. “Your coffee” I mumbled instead.

“tell me something about you”

I didn’t want to, at first, make things about me, but Jean let himself fall further into the couch and further against me. My hand that had been on his arm was now inside of his and he acted like it was nothing.  “I have a lovely family. I majored in English and business, but I just did what I was asked so it’ s nothing worth talking about” He nodded. “My father became ill, he’s got a few years, and that’s why I took over the shop. They are getting old though, because they were quite old when they got children.” I sighed softly “I came out to my parents when I was fourteen actually. I thought I was ready back then and I was.. it was so simple Jean.. I just said ‘mum, I’m gay and I don’t think I can like girls.. will dad be okay with it?’  and she took me to see dad and he smiled saying something along the lines of ‘that is probably the best way to make sure you don’t get yelled at every once a month.. for three days’  and I don’t know if I understood him, but I still laughed”  
Jean was staring at me with wide eyes “That simple?”

“Yes, Jean, it was that simple”  He let himself fall back against me “you were just unlucky.” Maybe that was a cruel thing to say. “Somewhere I’m a little envious. You can say ‘I went through all of that and look at me now. Look at me getting a job. Look at me still using the brains I got in university to think right, even without a paper. One day you’ll say, look at me loving despite all the important people who told me I couldn’t.”  Jean snuggled his nose against me, not wanting to answer my words. Maybe he didn’t even want to hear them They probably weren’t words that should come out of the mouth of someone he didn’t know that long. “Look Eren.. I found someone who loves me more than I loved you”

“Shut up” Jean mumbled against my shoulder. His hair all in my face but his hand still in mine.

I stopped talking, like he told me. Merely let my head fall against his a little farther. My eyes were focussing on our hands, I was stroking his, just making small figures with my thumb. Dancing over his hand. Softly and rougher.  
He noticed this too and started looking at our hands too, studying what I was doing with his hands.  “Humans and flowers are more alike than you think” and in that moment everything was fine. In that position we slept, not willing to let that what was perfect go.

 

When I woke up Jean was not lying next to me. Somewhere I wasn’t surprised, somewhere I was, but I was certainly disappointed. It surprised me that he had managed to wake up early, hangover and all. The night before he had seemed so free. It amazed me to see he could switch to the running away type so quickly. Maybe he had just been able to push it back before.    
Now at first I looked for him in the kitchen and the bathroom. His stuff was gone too though.  
It struck me how stupid I had been. I had hired this guy to work for me, knowing I was attracted to him. I could have just asked his number and had someone else working for me. I could have had him working for me and gotten rid of the feeling growing inside of me. But not both. God I shouldn't have done both. He was so happy for getting a job and if I had made him uncomfortable with soft love it was my mistake and his problem.

Curs me.

I tried to call Jean while looking around for a painkiller to take with my breakfast. He didn’t pick up.  After breakfast I tried again but there was once again nothing on the other side of the line.  
My thoughts went over everything that had happened. It was nothing much and yet, for me, there had been enormous feelings in it. For Jean, it was probably the loss of fear that had kept him going and the return of fear that had him leaving.

I was worried about him. Not about my own feelings but about him. His own mind seemed to have his feelings anywhere they shouldn’t be. They were being wasted with empty tears and alcohol and everything he shouldn’t be pouring when alone. Still I realised that the only thing I could do for Jean was wait. He’d have to come back. He had noticed how fast and kind this place had become his home. It was an insane man’s job to leave and never come back. Now he just hoped that Jean wasn’t that.  
He wanted to hold the other tightly and kiss away the pain. Stupid stupid stupid. You can keep flowers for as long as they want but you can’t bring them back to life. You can merely accept the sad beauty.

I had. I had and I didn’t know how to keep this man from moving to hurt himself because I only like broken and wilted flower. He was not. He could move. Flowers can’t.

They aren’t alike. How do you handle men?

That day I drank more coffee than usually and waited for it to go by. As you all might know, time seems to go very slow when you wait for it to pass. So my day was way too long. Nothing made me happier than waking up the next morning, taking a shower, and having to work. Yet while I was working it was quite calm.

I cursed the calm; it gave me a chance to wait for time to pass until it was 10 o’ clock. Even the sunlight that shined through the window made me nervous. Everything about the soft and slow morning. Every single person that came in had my heartbeat speeding up because I expected him to come in. I don’t know why, because nine o'clock hadn’t even passed yet.

Jean didn’t look at me when he did walk in. “Goodmorning.. Jean”

“Hey” He still didn’t look up “I’ll put away my stuff”

“ah- alright” I watched him walk to the back of the shop and drop his bags there. I stared at him without any shame.  “It’s quite calm, we could drink some coffee and I’ll get you something to eat before you start”

“Nah, it’s fine”  
Like that. Like that he walked around me and got his job done just fine but without any interaction. We walked against each other a few times. One time Jean walked into me when he was carrying a big bouquet, and a few flowers broke. He apologized quite seriously and panicked; the customer looked at me like I was an angry- bad guy boss.  I realized here that Jean was not mad at me. He was in panic, nervous and maybe a little bit sad too. “It’s fine, Jean”  He looked up at me when I talked, for the first time that day, and it was as if a knife got jabbed into my neck.  Those were his thorns, Oh, how could I have forgotten, even for a second, that this man had such thorns. Ones that could have you silent, with a little bit of pain, just wondering what to do, because, truthfully, I found a rose without thorns ugly and incomplete, but I liked having my breath and blood.

When 7 passed  and we were cleaning and waiting until we could close the shop Jean finally said the words I wanted to hear.  “Can I talk to you in a bit?”

“Yes! I wanted to ask you to talk too.. actually”

He stared at me, dead eyes, and then he nodded. “Yeah of course”

“I’m going to close the shop. People won’t mind us closing an hour early”

“No need-”  I walked outside and started gathering the flowers that were standing outside in beautiful iron buckets. The water got on my arms a bit, I didn’t really mind because the water had gotten warm with the sun shining on it all day. The sun had shined a lot compared to the rest of the month. Wait no.. it was March; the first day of March, I reminded myself. It was the first day of March and spring had started today. That was kind of a sad thought, that I was feeling so cold from inside on the first spring day. Even with all the flowers and sunlight I could have gotten. Even with all the tea and coffee and sweets. I felt cold from inside because of glances I hadn’t gotten.

Jean appeared beside me and started carrying the other buckets inside. Then he got the board and carried it inside. Usually we did that together because it was quite heavy. I saw him struggling with it so I took the other half. “Sorry” he mumbled.

Only then I thought about how he had said ‘sorry’  instead of ‘thank you’ all day.

I told him this.

He swallowed as answer. Or he swallowed away his answer. I’ll never know.  

With everything inside I locked the door and made some coffee for him and some jasmine tea for myself. I poured a good amount of honey in it and put the leftover brownies (which was still quite a lot) on a pastel blue plate for us to eat, just silently hoping for some sweetness. God I just needed some sweetness in my life. Sweet like the wine had been a few days before. Sweet like his smile and honest words had been. Tea to warm me like his hand had done to mine where it had lain.

“You shouldn't have” Jean mumbled. It sounded, for a second, like the only nice thing he had said that day “I have to leave soon”

“Oh..” I put the plate down anyway and sat down in front of him. His coffee was still too hot to drink; he seemed annoyed with that fact.  “So, you wanted to-”

“I want to quit.. the job, I mean” That was the one sentence I had not expected. He wasn’t happy with me, or my love for him, or my way of talking about flowers and books or whatever but he did like the job. He had, from the start, said he loved the job and that he was glad that he even had a job.  “I’m going to fuck up like this. I already fucked up. Today was super fucking awkward. You don’t want someone with a depression working here.  I should have mentioned all that was going on with me the first day in the first place, but fuck, I made it worse, I did. I can’t work here”

“No. What gave you the right to tell me who I want working here?”

Jean stared at me while swallowing thickly. “I just- I can’t handle all this closeness without security. It’s making my head spin”

“What kind of security will you get by leaving, Jean?”

He closed his eyes “Just the security of being alone. Right now I don’t know if I am or if I am not. I don’t know if I’m working or loving. I- I- " His looked at the2 table and thought about his words.  That’s not what I meant. I mean that you can just just hire some happy girl who matches these damn flowers”

“Is that all? Or do you want to talk about Saturday night too?”

“No. No. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay, then I’ll do the talking. Because I do”  I leaned over the table until I knew he was watching me.  “You gave me a very warm feeling. For a bit, I thought about how to combine this with work and then I realised that it wouldn’t be hard. We can be close, and if this thing goes wrong we can be more professional towards each other.”  

“That won’t work”  

“Okay. Okay. But you said that you wanted to quit the job so it seems like a risk worth taking anyway. It can only get better” he had nothing to say to that.  “Saturday night.. I wanted to kiss you very bad. I wanted to hold you and tell you that you are not broken.. you just.. you just have thorns and you have been dried out a little bit. You…” I mentally cursed myself. “Sorry, I can’t explain it with flowers”   Jean mindlessly stared at me. Waiting for me to tell him what I wanted to say. I was afraid that if I didn’t, he’d just stand up to leave. “Do you remember how I always keep these flowers, because they live longer than we keep them? Because I still find them beautiful? Well, I keep them because once I decided I loved something, I will love them for as long as they live. Even if it’s just barely. Even if it’s just.. like you”

He sweetly looked down at his coffee, a confused frown on his face. “How can you say you love me?”

“Like I love flowers. I will, one day, love you in that other way. But for now.. I thought you were beautiful, and that you told amazing stories with one look. You make my life a little bit brighter, even if you don’t look it.”

He didn’t stop looking down, his eyes closed, he just nodded and swallowed very hard. I knew he was crying inside.  

He went upstairs with me, still without saying a word, and I put some tea on. I made some Udon noodles and watched him calm down slowly. He was breathing slower and his eyes seemed a little less endless. They were no longer emotionless, they were merely calm.

Once I sat down with him and handed him a plate, he seemed to find security and distraction in the food.  I whispered every word I said, like that was going to keep the words from hitting him in his face again. “It’s always your choice to make. Don’t feel like you have to hold me because you work here. Don’t feel like you can’t hold me because you do. And don’t, ever, think I won’t because you are depressed, broken or wilted or whatever you are.”  He nodded softly “It’s your choice, I’ll wait for it.. but don’t do anything stupid before you have chosen” God it was all so deep for two people who didn’t know each other but he was just so intense. He was able to knock both my breath and intense sentences out of me.

He didn’t answer me. He just calmly ate his noodles. Thanked me and then he let his body fall into the couch a little further. His eyes closed and his face almost pushed into the soft pillows.  “Would you mind sitting here?” he petted the place beside him on the couch.  
I flew off my own chair “Of course not” I placed myself behind him very softly, as if sitting down normally would send him flying off the couch. He was still lying the same. Without looking at me, but his hand was lying with the insides turned up. I stared at it, but chose to believe it was not an invitation. I left my left hand empty though, drank my tea with one, just so that I could still take it. And yes. Yes he pushed his hand towards me even more. I decided to just lay mine against it, and stroke his softly. His seemed to work for both of us, he moaned very very softly. We took each others hands eventually, and it felt natural. He lied himself against me again. His face against me once again.  “I think I want to try it” he mumbled. “Just know that I’m a mess.. and that I’m very brave for loving again.”

“I know” I whispered.

He hushed me. He wasn’t done. “and.. and know that I haven’t felt this calm in a long while, if ever.”  He finally looked at me. Awkward. He smiled “You smell very nice you know, very homey”

I grinned. I had not expected him to say such a thing. “I have this natural perfume that is made from sandalwood, I got it from-”  he interrupted me. He put his forehead on mine softly and mumbled something like ‘idiot’  or ‘moron’ or something else among those lines I can’ recall, and then he softly pushed his lips on mine. It was very short. Very intense though. His lips were above mine and he softly licked my upper lip before closing his lips against mine and pulling away again. The was he did that send shivers down to my belly.

He looked at me from very close and smiled down. “that was nice” I mumbled, to which he snorted before falling back on the couch against me. ‘This is nice”  

That evening was innocent. Soft. We kissed quite a lot. I kept stroking his cheek, hand and hand while he just smiled as if he didn’t know he was smiling. He sometimes took the hand I was caressing him with to kiss it. We could have stood up to do something. Get drinks, watch a movie, show him some books, but both of us didn’t feel like it. It felt like a waste. Eventually we stubled to bed. This was Jean’s first time seeing my bed and we crawled into it and against each other. The blanket was still extremely cold. “Your bed is so comfortable compared to mine” he had once told me that he had an one person bed. The fact that he stretched out as much as he could and mumbled “I could sleep like this” proved this.

“Then where should I sleep?” this came as a tired laugh.

He pointed at the space under his arm “You can curl up here. My arm can be your pillow” I laughed, knowing that there was no way he was going to sleep with me on his arm. Still I did lay down on his arm, snuggled against him, and whispered “feel great yet?”

“Nope”  he rolled back and snuggled against me the way I had been lying against him.

“You know, you act so tough that I had almost missed that you are a hugger”

“I’m not. I am an exception maker”  
I laughed wholeheartedly, yet soft,  and put my arm around him. That was quite a sentence for such a broken and scared person. I believed in him dearly. I wished he was telling the truth, for him, for me, for the love and for the sake of everybody in the band.  “Is that so?” My belly was now laying against his bare back. My upper arm symmetrically on his and my lower one lying above us. He pushed his back even further against me, which send shivers to the pit of my stomach and a little bit further. My face was now laying against his neck, a smile on his ear. I kissed him softly, there, to which he chuckled.  I kissed his neck, a little bit wetter but still soft, to which here moaned. He gripped my hand tighter and made me hug him closer while I pushed my forehead into his hair.  “Goodnight, Jean”  it came as a whisper, yet the words were loud enough to galm through my head.

“Sleep well, Marco.”

To describe that morning, I’d start with the way early sunlight shined into my room as bright as it had in the shop the day before. The day I was stressing about Jean coming back. The day Jean tried to get away from the shop and I.  
It didn’t wake the other up, nor did the alarm clock, but me moving to wake up made him groan in a moody manner. All night we had managed to stick together with glue and I was mainly wondering how my shoulder held out with me laying on my side the whole time. But it did feel like it was still alive (if it wasn’t it would totally be worth it).  “Breakfast”  I whispered. “I’ll make breakfast and you can sleep a little longer”

He moaned. “Hm.. no.. I am awake”  he was lying. His eyes were closed and his voice low.  “I can stand up”  

“No need”

“Yeah.. yeah.. I’m  standing up right now”  he kept still. Smiled and moaned some more. As if he had fallen asleep again, within a second.

I chuckled “Okay, take your time waking up, I’ll stant cooking for I need to work first”

Jean pulled me down a little bit again. Hugged me close. Kissed my jaw. Chuckled. Smiled. Then snuggled his nose against me as if that fluffiness was a norm for him.  “Nice”  he said “Now pull me up with you.”

The morning went like that  Think about; Jean talking - in this same sweet- tired manner; pancakes with cheese, and apple and cinnamon sugar; think about Jean joking about how I was cinnamon sugar and me replying that he was my white sugar, oh boy boy, beautiful like diamonds but sweet like candy.  Now skip to, going down to the shop together and opening the door like it was no other day. Him getting coffee bread and coffee while I started sorting and cutting the flowers I hadn’t done the night before because he was priority. Him smirking and mumbling “I don’t start until ten” and me replying with that he wasn’t allowed to work until then anyway; he had to relax. Imagine.. Know.. that I kissed him right there and then, before a customer walked in and I switched to “How can I help you?”

Think about more mornings going like that, until the ones that didn’t started feeling awkward and every single morning went like that. When I think about I think about how he started smiling more and more, opening up more and more. When I think about the question ‘Is he wilted, dried or does he still have his thorns?’  I answer it with the fact that, actually, he was still a bud waiting to bloom. Cheesy, I know.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> Please tell me what you think (:


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